


Slugs and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

by yodasyoyo



Series: Tumblr fics [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Awkward Boners, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Derek has the biggest crush on stiles okay?, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Derek, Kid!Derek, Kid!Stiles, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, and he doesn't know what to do with himself at ALL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt:</p><p>kid!Derek being super taken with kid!Stiles. And their interactions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashleylive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleylive/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles build a treehouse (With a little help).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in a slightly different style to the rest. So it's kind of like a prologue. Except that the other chapters occur either pre this point, or after it.  
> idk. It's complicated.

They built it the summer Derek turned seven.

He remembers, even now, the stifling heat that year, the hottest summer on record. How his mother turned the sprinklers on in the backyard. How he and his sisters danced about, running through the spray, shrieking with laughter.

His Dad had been dismantling the old outbuilding that stood at the west corner of their property, throwing up clouds of dust and sending enormous spiders scuttling through the long grass and into the preserve.

In the end, it had been Stiles’ idea, but that surprised no-one.

As soon as he’d seen the planks of old wood, lying there, baking in the sun, he turned to Derek and said, “We should build a treehouse.”

Once thought, it could not be unthought.

The four kids clamored, hungry for it, and eventually their parents relented.

So, about a month later, on a lazy weekend in July, while the sun was fat and yellow in the sky, they began the project that defined that summer for them all.

By general consensus, the best tree for it was the gnarled, old apple tree where the Hale’s backyard bordered the preserve. The one where the old tire swing still swung carelessly in the breeze.

Building the treehouse took over most of their spare time, their families meeting together whenever they could. Everyone helped, whether it was handing up tools, sawing wood, or making fresh squeezed lemonade.

Everyone did something.

The wood from the outbuilding wasn’t quite enough, some of it split, some too rotten to be used.  Derek can remember scrambling up into the rusting, red, pick-up truck, taking a seat next to his Dad. Remembers bouncing down the old dirt road, through sparse fields, watching the heat shimmer in front of them. Going to the lumberyard to pick up the rest of what they needed. The strong smell of sawdust and sweat in the air.

One Sunday afternoon in late August they finally finished it. They carved eight names into the wood and the date, then stood back around the tree to admire their handiwork.

Claudia took photographs of them all.

Claudia always took photographs.

Then, the four kids, Derek, Laura, Cora and Stiles, all climbed the rope ladder, buzzing with excitement. Their parents sat nearer the house, drinking beers and laughing, celebrating their success.

It was furnished, after a fashion, with old burnt-orange throw pillows that Stiles’ mom intended to throw out. They colored the walls with chalks, drew pictures of trees and dogs and spaceships and each other. Derek’s mom dug out a couple of old army blankets and, for what remained of the summer, they would climb the rope ladder, swing up through the little hatch, and sit round, huddled in the blankets late into the evening, bickering, laughing and telling stories.

Over the years, though, Cora and Laura lost interest and then it became Derek and Stiles’ place.

They camped out there one night, when Derek was ten, snug in sleeping bags, listening to the sounds of the preserve. They told each other ghost stories and dared each other to climb down the rope ladder and stand there shivering in their pajamas in the pitch black, while a thousand stars twinkled above them in an endless expanse of sky.

They woke in the morning, burrowed into each other for warmth, fingers stiff from the cold. They blinked at each other. Their breath a warm puff of cloud against each other’s cheeks that dissipated quickly. Hair sleep-mussed.

Stiles’ eyes were warm brown, flecked with gold, his lips twisted in a smile.

It made Derek’s stomach swoop like he was on a roller coaster. And he’d always known Stiles was different, special to him in some indefinable way, but, looking back on it, maybe this was when he knew.

“Gah, I can’t feel my fingers,” Stiles moaned. They were just visible over the top of Stiles’ sleeping bag and he rubbed his hands together, breathed on them to warm them.

Derek huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes, but sat up, pulled the old army blankets over them both and tucked them in with careful precision. He rearranged the hideous orange throw pillows. When he finished they were nestled in one big giant cocoon, separated only by their sleeping bags.

Stiles watched as he did it, then, as Derek settled himself back in his sleeping bag, Stiles wriggled up against him, arranged himself until he lay snug against Derek’s back, like two spoons in a drawer. The warm press of his body warmed Derek’s chilled limbs, even through the sleeping bag.

“S’much better, Der.” Stiles slurred, mouth stretching wide in a yawn.

Within a few minutes they both drifted back to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's possible I'll write more at some point. However each little vignette is complete on its own, which is why this is marked as complete.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes us back to where they first met, they're maybe 4 or 5 in this. Before the treehouse.

Derek’s so bored.

The most bored-est he's ever been in his whole entire life.

And that's saying something. After all, Cora likes the _Teletubbies_ and he thought nothing could be boring-er than that.

Turns out he was wrong. His mom has taken Laura and Cora out, (one to soccer practice and the other to a friend's birthday party).

His dad is upstairs trying to fix a busted pipe.

Derek's spent the last half hour skulking round the house and _almost_ wishing his sisters were back.

He slouches into the den and turns on the TV. There's nothing on, except _boring_ cartoons that he's seen before. He slouches out again, leaving the TV blaring.

None of the board games he has are any good without someone to _play_ with.

He doesn't want to read a book or do coloring in.

He sighs loudly.

Sometimes life is so _hard._

It's been raining this morning, but as he looks outside now, he can see that the clouds have cleared and there's bright sunshine outside. He scowls at it. He's not in the _mood_ for sunshine.

He slips his feet into his sneakers anyway, treading down the heels, and wanders out into the backyard listlessly. Their yard backs on to the preserve, which he isn't allowed into without one of his parents. Even though there's nothing _bad_ there. It's just lots of _trees._ Parents. Sometimes they really,  _really_ suck.

The ground outside is slick with mud and he grabs the biggest stick he can find, and starts poking about with it. Here's an interesting looking stone, and there's an empty snail shell, chipped and a little muddy. He puts them both in his pocket and wipes his hands off on his pants.

He makes his way to an apple tree, right where there backyard borders the preserve. It's a gnarled twisted thing, good for climbing, with a tire swing slung over a branch. The tire is wet, and he wipes at it with his hand before draping himself through it. The swing twists lazily as Derek prods at the ground beneath him with his stick.

It'll probably be like- _an hour_ – or something before everyone comes back home and that's _ages_ away.

He pokes absently at a spider and it scuttles into the long grass, and then he hears something rustling.

He glances up, thinking maybe it's a fox of a raccoon or something cool he could tame and keep secretly. He's always wanted a pet, but they can't get one because _Laura_ has _allergies._ It's not a fox or a raccoon, though. It's a boy, blinking at him with wide brown eyes, standing just where the edge of their backyard meets the preserve.

Derek raises himself up on his elbows and scowls at him, as the tire swing rotates gently in the breeze. “This is private property!” he says as the swing spins round so he can see the boy again.

The boy's mouth opens a little, and then his entire face just crumples and he bursts into tears.

Derek digs his toes into the mud to stop the swing spinning, and stares at him for a second. The boy is taking deep hiccuping breaths now, and there's snot streaming from his upturned nose. Derek lets out a long suffering sigh and then slithers out of the tire.

The kid is _still_ crying.

Derek jams his hands into his pockets and sidles up to him. His fingers clench round the snail shell in his pocket and he runs his fingers over it before taking it out and presenting it palm outstretched.

The boy stops crying and looks at it warily.

Derek glares at the toes of his sneakers. “I jus' found this,” he says gruffly, “Y'can have it if y'want.”

He watches beneath his lashes as the kid wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve and then reaches out gingerly to take it.

“Thanks. S'pretty cool,” the kid says, examining it closely. “My name's Stiles.” He smiles at Derek then, wide and gap-toothed, eyes bright brown in the sunshine and-

“I'm Derek. You wanna play a game?” 

Stiles puts the snail shell carefully in his pocket. “Yeah!” he sighs, “but I can't.”

“Oh!” Derek's shoulders sag in disappointment. “Why not?” 

“I went for a walk in the preserve with my family and I got lost,” Stiles says, voice tremulous, “and now I'm gonna have to stay out here all night by _myself_.”

Derek gapes at him for a long moment. “ _Awesome!”_ he breathes, “Can I come too?”

Stiles' face lights up with relief. “Yes!” he says, but then his expression clouds a little. “It's gonna be real dangerous though. There might be mountain lions or bears or stuff out here.”

Derek considers this for a second, “I can fight them off with this,” he says, showing Stiles the stick. “I'll protect you. I would never let _anything_ happen to you.” He swings the stick through the air to demonstrate his awesome stick fighting prowess. “Y'see?” he says hopefully.

Stiles looks at it in awe, “ _Cool,_ can I have a stick too?”

Derek nods, solemn. “If you want,” he says, “You can sleep in the tire swing tonight. I'll stay out here and stand guard.”

Stiles cocks his head to the side and considers this proposal. “We should take turns,” he says, “and if a lion comes the one that's on guard has to wake the other one up to fight. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Derek concedes, after a moments thought. After all, all night is a _long_ time to stay awake.

“Oh! I know! I know!” Stiles says suddenly, clutching at Derek's arm. “We should build a _trap_ for the lion!”

Derek looks at him thunderstruck. “That is the most awesomest idea I have _ever_ heard of _ever!_ ” he says with complete sincerity.

“Thanks!” Stiles blushes. “Do you have anything we could dig a pit with?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, confident, “We've got a sandbox over there, that's got lots of stuff for digging in it,” he pauses, “I know! We could dig the pit _in the sandbox_!”

Stiles gapes at him, “That's an _amazing_ idea! Sand's much easier to dig up then the ground!”

It's Derek's turn to blush now, he preens a little under Stiles adoring gaze and then swings the stick through the air a couple of times, as hard as he can. “We'll still need to practice fighting too though,” he says seriously, “In case the trap doesn't work.”

Stiles nods furiously. “Trap first,” he says, “then we'll find a good stick for me.”

Derek grins. Maybe this afternoon won't be so boring after all.

–

Half an hour later Talia Hale arrives home to find Derek and Stiles playing together in the sandbox.

Fifteen minutes and one very hurried phone call later, Stiles' parents arrive, flustered and stressed and angry and overwhelmingly relieved.

Stiles and Derek show them their mountain lion pit and the mud slinging catapults they created and the _nine_ different, and completely awesome, sticks they found to fight off predators.

  
Eventually Stiles has to go home and Derek's sad, but he's not worried. Sometimes you meet someone and you just know you're gonna be best friends for _life_.

  
  
  
o0o

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a birthday party. Derek's a little bit jealous/possessive. He handles his emotions about as well as your average six year old would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from the last chapter. Probably takes place about six months to a year later. They're around six in this, but they go to different schools or maybe Derek is home schooled, I've not decided.

“Come on, Derek! We're going to be late for Stiles' party!”

Derek thunders down the stairs, skidding to a stop by the front door. His mom huffs out a sigh. “Is that t-shirt clean?”

Derek shrugs. She pulls at it a little, trying to straighten it. “Hmm, I think it is clean,” she decides, “just very crumpled. Did you put those clothes away that I left on your bed?”

He shrugs again.

“If I go upstairs now, they're going to be all over your bedroom floor aren't they?”

Derek runs his tongue  over his top lip and blinks. “I thought we were going to be late,” he says. He doesn't want to miss this party, Stiles has been talking about it for _weeks._ There's going to be games and curly fries and cake. It's going to be _awesome._

His mom shoots him a knowing look, then licks her finger and rubs it vigorously against his chin. “There's dirt on your face. You didn't wash your face did you?” she says accusingly.

Derek nods his head, “I _did!_ ”

His mom runs a brush through his hair and sighs again. “It'll have to do. Get Stiles' present. There, on your left.” Derek wheels round to look for it, “No, your other left.” She grabs his arm. “Here. Okay. Let's go.”

Derek tucks the gift under one arm and tumbles out the door after her, following her to the car.

 

-

 

When they arrive at Stiles' house there are balloons tied to the front door and the sound of kids playing can be heard as they walk up the drive. His mom rings the doorbell and after a short pause the door opens.

“Hello! Come in, come in! Derek glad you could make it.” Claudia Stilinski beams at him. “Stiles is out back with the others, why don't you go through.”

Derek doesn't need to be told twice. He runs through the house to the open sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard.

“Bye, Sweetie!” his mom calls after him. “Be good and play _nicely._ ”

He bursts through the open door into the backyard expecting to see Stiles and stumbles to a stop.

There are kids everywhere, charging about and shrieking with laughter.

He doesn't recognize a single one.

His face scrunches in a frown.

He stands there for a few minutes, awkward and alone, watching everyone play.

He can't see Stiles _anywhere._

“Hey there, Derek,” calls Stiles' dad. “Have you seen Stiles? He's somewhere about. Oh, I see you've brought a gift. There's a table for the gifts set up over there, if you want to put it down and go play with everyone.”

Derek stares up at him with wide reproachful eyes, mouth pinched tight in a frown.

There's a long pause.

Stiles' dad wilts under his gaze. “I'll-um, go find Stiles, shall I, son?” he says eventually and disappears quickly back into the house.

Derek stands there again, alone, watching all the other kids rampage about the backyard. A little knot of tension forms in his stomach.

“Derek!” a familiar voice calls from behind him. Derek wheels round, relieved. Stiles races over, and barrels into him, nearly knocking him down. “You came!”

“Yeah, I-” The words die in his throat.

Another boy has run over with Stiles, he's standing just behind Stiles' shoulder. He has dark hair, deep brown eyes and a wide, friendly smile. Derek stares at him, then at Stiles.

“Oh! This is Scott,” Stiles smiles, “he's my best friend at school. Scott, this is Derek.”

“Hi, Derek!” Scott says with a grin.

Derek scowls, but nobody seems to notice.

“Wow! You brought me a gift! Can I have it?” Stiles reaches his hands out to take it, but Derek steps back out of his way and shakes his head.

“No, it's not _for_ you.”

“Oh,” Stiles face falls, he leans forward to try and get a better look. “But it's got my name on it though.”

“No it hasn't.” Derek puts the gift behind his back.

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by his mom calling, “Stiles! Lydia's here.”

Stiles' pales and grabs Scott's arm. “Lydia,” he hisses. "She came!"

A girl steps daintily into the backyard. She's wearing a perfectly pink party dress and has a perfectly pink bow in her shiny copper-colored hair, (which is also perfect). Derek's scowl deepens as he watches Stiles blush.

“Happy Birthday, Stiles. Thank-you for inviting me,” Lydia says, with a polite smile. She hands him a neatly wrapped gift.

Stiles' blush deepens further, his face is all blotchy with it. He reaches out and takes the present from her. “Th-that's okay."  
  
Derek feels something twist sharply in his stomach. Stiles turns with Scott and Lydia, and they all head over to the little table that's holding the gifts.

Derek doesn't go with them, instead, he slouches off to a far corner of the backyard. He finds a table that has been set up to serve drinks. It has a red gingham tablecloth on it. Derek crawls underneath with Stiles' gift and sits there, arms crossed over his knees, all hunched in on himself. He digs the toe of his sneaker into the dirt and swallows, hard. There are too many people, and Stiles has  _other_ friends. People who aren't Derek. People Derek feels sure he doesn't like. 

-

Soon Stiles' mom is calling all the kids together and dividing them into teams to play a game. Derek stays sitting under the table, and no-one seems to notice he's missing. He can hear the sounds of the other kids laughing and running about.

He doesn't feel like joining in.

This party isn't like he imagined it being at _all._

Music starts blaring out, they're playing another party game. Derek rubs his nose and sniffs dolefully. There's a scrabbling noise and the tablecloth lifts slightly. Stiles crawls under it.

Derek watches him balefully.

“Hey Derek, there you are!" Stiles licks his lips nervously. "Are you okay? You're- uh- you're being weird.”

Derek shrugs.

Stiles takes a seat next to Derek, mirroring his position, arms wrapped around his knees. “Are you going to come and play?” 

Derek shakes his head and looks away.

“Okay.” Stiles doesn't leave, just stays sitting next to him.

Derek picks up a stick and starts to poke the ground with it. Stiles watches him, interested.

“Does Lydia go to your school too?” Derek asks eventually.

Stiles nods, “She the smartest girl in our class, and the prettiest.” Derek stabs the ground viciously with the stick. Stiles continues, “I think she's amazing, but she told Allison, who told Scott, who told me, that she thinks _Jackson_ is the cutest boy in our class.” Derek pauses his excavation, a little clod of earth clings to the stick. “Jackson's a _jerk_!” Stiles says passionately.

Derek watches him. “Why?”

Stiles wipes his nose on his sleeve, “He just _is._ He's really mean to Scott all the time, and the other day he told me I had so many moles it looked like I had measles.”

Derek scowls, “He sounds like an idiot, there's nothing wrong with your moles.”

“Really?” Stiles says skeptically.

Derek shrugs, “I like them.”

“Yeah?” Stiles eyes light up.

Derek nods.

Stiles' answering grin is blinding. “You see, _this_ is why you're my best friend,” he says, nudging their shoulders together.

Derek's brow furrows. “I- I thought _Scott_ was your best friend.”

“He's my best friend _at school,”_ Stiles says easily, “You're my best friend _outside_ school.”

Derek considers this for a long moment.

“This is for you,” he hands Stiles his present. There's mud smeared across it and the wrapping paper is a crumpled and torn.

Stiles accepts it gingerly and looks at Derek.

“Open it.”

Stiles rips into it quickly. “Oh wow!” he says as a box drops into his lap, “Batman Lego, that's so awesome! Thanks, Derek, you're the best!” Stiles grins at him, all gap-toothed smile and bright brown eyes.

Derek scratches his head and looks away. “Yeah, well, let's go play,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah? Okay!”

They crawl out from under the table together and wander over to the small clutch of children at the other end of the yard.

Scott comes over to greet them, “Hey guys, where were you? It's nearly time for food.”

Stiles drapes one arm over each of them, tugging them in close. “You know what that means,” he crows, “curly fries and chicken nuggets with my best buds. You guys have to sit next to me, okay?"

Derek nods and grins, draping his own arm over Stiles' shoulders and squeezing tight.

Okay, so maybe this party isn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each of these chapters kind of stands alone as it's own story. I may add more at some point - get them to a point where they actually become teenagers etc... or I might leave it here. Depends if I get an inspiration for another chapter. At the moment though, I'm tagging it as complete.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is feeling forlorn, Derek tries to make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no excuse for this. I just wanted to write fluff. Sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting fluff. They're about 10 or 11 in this. Just so you know.

Something is wrong with Stiles.

He sits cross-legged on the end of Derek’s bed, elbows resting on his knees, chin resting on his hands, lips pulled down in a pout, looking forlorn.

Derek sit on the floor by the foot of his bed, legs stretched out in a vee. He’s busy ripping up strips of old newspaper for the paper-mâché volcano he’s supposed to make for his school science project.

Above him, he hears Stiles sigh dramatically, again.

“What’s up.”

“Nothing,” Stiles says, mournfully.

“I’m nearly finished with this, then we can go downstairs and play in the backyard if you want, or there’s Mario Kart.” Derek cranes his neck round to look at him.

“Eh,” Stiles shrugs listlessly, his head resting in one hand now, the other hand picking idly at a loose thread on Derek’s comforter.

Derek rolls his eyes, screws up one of the strips of newspaper, kneels up and lobs it at Stiles’ head. It bounces off and onto the bed.

“Hey! What was that for?” Stiles exclaims, rearing back a little.

“For being a lying liar who lies,” Derek retorts.

“I never lied.”

“I said ‘what’s up’ and you said ‘nothing’.” Derek points out.

Stiles huffs out a beleaguered sigh and looks away, color rising in his cheeks.

Derek rolls up another strip of newspaper and throws it. It bounces off Stiles nose and rolls uselessly on to the bed.

“Stop being a jerk!” Stiles spits angrily.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Derek counters.

Stiles picks up one of the screwed up balls of newspaper that lay on the comforter and throws it back at him, it glances off Derek’s shoulder.

Derek grins. Stiles glares and folds his arms across his chest.

Derek sticks out his tongue, and Stiles sighs. His shoulders droop and he looks away, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes. He looks so dejected that Derek feels a sudden stab of guilt for teasing him.

He clambers up on to the bed and the mattress creaks as he settles himself next to Stiles, knocking their shoulders together.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Scott has a girlfriend,” Stiles says, eventually.

Derek raises one eyebrow, and watches him, saying nothing.

“Allison. She just transferred to Beacon Hills, and she has _dimples_.”

“Oh,” Derek says, something twists hotly in his stomach. He stares down at his hands. “I-uh I thought you liked Lydia?”

Stiles frowns. “I _do_.”

“Then why-”

“Because now Scott is all distracted. Allison sits with us at lunch time. He gave her his _pudding cup_.”   
  
Derek casts a furtive glance at Stiles from under his lashes, his mouth is turned down, nose wrinkled in displeasure.

“So you’re feeling left out?”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, “I guess.”

Derek swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, nervously.

“They’re probably gonna kiss.” Stiles says, glumly, “And Lydia has probably already kissed Jackson, and everyone is going to get kissed and I’m gonna be the last person who ever gets kissed. Ever.”

Derek swallows, winds his fingers tight in the fabric of the comforter, the skin over his knuckles stretched and white.

“It’s stupid, anyway,” Stiles grumbles. “I bet kissing sucks, it’s probably not that great, right? I mean, it always looks kind of gross in the movies and I have my ten year plan for Lydia, so even if she does kiss someone else first, it doesn’t mean that-mmphh”

Derek lunges forward and cuts off his rant by mashing their lips inexpertly together. Stiles makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, and after a couple of seconds, Derek pulls back again quickly his cheeks aflame.

Stiles is looking at him, brown eyes wide, mouth hanging slackly.

Derek gulps, and scrubs a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “So, that was kissing.” He gnaws his lower lip, heart tripping nervously in his chest. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Stiles. _He can’t_. “Mario Kart now?” He glances up hopefully.

“Uh-” Stiles is watching him, a strange expression on his face; he runs his fingers over his lips thoughtfully, and Derek looks away again. He can feel his ears burning.

“Stiles,” he tries again. He feels strange and hot and uncomfortable. His insides are all wriggly and squirmy and he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, like he’s too big for his own skin. “Mario Kart?” he suggests again an edge of desperation creeping in.

Stiles clears his throat, “Uh- yeah. Yeah. Mario Kart. Definitely. That’s uh- yeah.”

They trudge downstairs in awkward silence and into the den. Stiles slumps in one squashy leather armchair. Derek fiddles with the television, switches on the Wii and then slumps in the chair next to him in silence.

They play Mario Kart for two hours, until they’re both yelling at the screen and laughing and it’s not awkward anymore.

That evening, Derek’s Mom serves lasagna for tea, which is Stiles’ favorite, and Derek lets Stiles have the last slice, which is a big deal, because his Mom’s lasagna is the best. It’s worth it though, to see the happy smile that spreads across Stiles’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take prompts on [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/). Come at me brah.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're probably about fifteen here, fifteenish. idk. There is much pining. Also, awkward boners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The observant among you will notice that I reordered the chapters from where they were originally published.

Sometimes Derek thinks he can feel the weight of Stiles’ gaze on him, but every time he looks up, Stiles glances away. He’s been doing that a lot lately though, watching Derek with curious intensity, like he’s a puzzle that can be solved. And maybe Stiles doesn’t realize he’s doing it, but it makes Derek shift in his seat, hot and uncomfortable, like his body’s too tight for his own skin.

Other times Stiles flops down next to Derek on the couch, and their shoulders knock together, legs almost touching and Derek can feel the heat of him, the _warmth._ It’s so distracting. Case in point, they’re supposed to be watching that new Netflix series together, but Derek is gonna have to rewatch every single episode in secret, because when Stiles is this close he can’t concentrate at _all_.

Stiles is touching him more too.

Or maybe less.

Well… technically it’s both.

Before it was all casual, unthinking touches, now there are fewer touches but they linger. Sometimes their hands will brush when Stiles takes something from him, or Stiles will rest his hand on Derek’s shoulder and lean over him, so close that all Derek can smell is ivory soap and mint toothpaste and, under all that, something else, something indefinably _Stiles._ It’s a warm spicy scent that makes Derek’s insides swoop, and his pulse throb down low. A scent that has him crossing his legs and tugging a throw pillow onto his lap, while his ears burn in mortification.

Then there are the dreams, dreams about Stiles, dreams that make him wake the next morning elated and sticky and confused. Stiles is his friend, he shouldn’t… he musn’t… but he is and he does.

Derek’s a bad friend. That’s all there is to it.

Sometimes, when he catches Stiles staring, Derek chances a look back and holds his gaze. And then, before he can get too invested, he reminds himself that Stiles has a ten year plan to woo Lydia Martin. Has had it for years. And Derek is not Lydia Martin and he needs to remember that.

Sometimes he’ll even bring it up, just so he can dig the knife in a little deeper, really feel the pain. “How’s the ten year plan coming along?” he’ll say.

And Stiles will laugh, awkward. He'll look away, blushing pretty.

“I’ve had to make a few adjustments to it,” he’d said, the last time Derek asked.

And that made something hot and sharp twist in Derek’s gut.  
  
Something a lot like jealousy.

 

-

 

They’re up in the old treehouse, sprawled on their bellies, side by side, homework spread out beneath them. Derek’s flicking idly through his Chem textbook, he hasn’t read a thing in the last ten minutes. He’s too aware of Stiles, the warm press of his body, the way he’s mauling the end of his pen, the sharp intake of his breath as he scribbles notes on his English essay.

Derek can’t stop watching him from the corner of his eye, relishing the way the late afternoon sunlight pierces the boards of their old treehouse, Stiles eyes limned amber in the golden light.

Stiles glances up suddenly, catches Derek’s eye. Catches him in the act. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek clears his throat, looks away. “Fine. Just, I fucking hate chem.”

Stiles grins, bright and warm. “Give me a second and I’ll help you. I am the Chem _master._ I just gotta finish off this sentence.” He turns back to his work and Derek sneaks another glance at him. Watches his hands, the prominent veins, the knobbly knuckles, the deft way his long fingers grip the pen, tight, firm, even as his tongue flicks out pink and-

Derek shifts uncomfortably and looks away, swallows, hard.

He hates being a teenager.

 _Hates_ it.

“Okay,” Stiles says, finishing his sentence with a flourish. “What can I do?”

Stiles is already insinuating himself further into Derek’s space, leaning over to take a look at the textbook.

“Uh-” Derek says, weakly, trying not to stare at Stiles moles or notice the way his hair tickles soft up against Derek’s cheek. Derek shifts again against the hard floor and bites down against a moan. He needs to sit up properly and find a goddamn pillow to put in his lap. He needs to-

“So, chemistry,” Stiles mutters staring down at Derek's dogeared textbook. The one Derek had just randomly opened to a page. Any page. Knowing that he wouldn’t get any work done at all with Stiles there. “What seems to be the problem?”

 _You,_ Derek thinks to himself, miserably. _You’re the problem._ “It’s, uh, it’s okay, I mean, I- uh-”

“I don’t mind helping,” Stiles says meeting Derek’s eyes. “Tell me how I can help.”

He’s so close.

Derek can feel Stiles' breath on his cheek. Could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

His pulse thunders in his ears. “Um-”

 _Don’t,_ he thinks to himself, _don’t look. Don’t look at-_

His eyes flick down to Stiles lips, and he can feel his ears burning. “Um-” he says, again.

He wants to run but he can’t, he isn’t in any fit state. He’s wearing sweatpants for crying out loud. If he stands, if he moves, Stiles will know. They’ll be no way to hide, no way to explain. He’ll ruin their friendship forever.

He forces himself to meet Stiles’ eyes. “Just- uh,” he swallows, “just generally.”

“Generally?” Stiles raises one eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Derek clears his throat, rubs at his cheek with ink-smudged fingers. “Just generally, y’know all of it.”

“All-”

“All chemistry,” Derek says, “I have no idea where to start. I- um- I’m not very good at- uh-”

“-at chemistry,” Stiles finishes softly.

Derek nods. Ears burning.

“Okay,” Stiles says with a small smile. “Okay. We’ll take it slow. I’m not going anywhere. I've got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/), come and say hi! You can prompt me too if you want. I could do with prompts. I have proper writers block at the moment, the only reason this chapter exists is because it was virtually complete in my wip folder. Prompts would be very helpful.
> 
> Also, I occasionally update this, but each chapter is complete in it's own right. WHich is why, for now, this is marked as complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who leaves kudos or comment. It really means a lot.


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